


and my ink will be starlight

by boxofwonder



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Experimental, M/M, Oisuga Week, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/pseuds/boxofwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suga rests his palm along Oikawa's face and thinks: <em>I could have learned to love you.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. spark

**Author's Note:**

> so i realised today that oisuga week is a thing and decided to challenge myself! i will write a daily fill, telling an on-going story inspired by the prompts, and trying something new with my style. it's kind of exciting!   
> please enjoy <3 
> 
> #1 - wishes

Their feet are tangled under rumpled sheets, skin bare but still flushed and burning enough for the chill in the room to feel pleasant. It is quiet, except for the ticking of a clock on the wall bearing into Suga's mind with each heavy sound. Oikawa's eyes are bright, transfixed on his. Lips still red from their kisses, hair tousled.

So beautiful, Suga's heart aches.

Their fingers are laced together in a contact too shy, too gentle in the wake of all the marks Suga had scattered across Oikawa's skin before. They look even darker, such stark contrast when Oikawa seems to be glowing, illuminated by the light of the moon pouring in through the window.

How long until these marks fade?

They matter now, but in a week, a month, they won't.

And the clock keeps ticking.

“I wish -” Oikawa whispers, and Suga rushes forward almost frantic, cuts him off with a kiss that doesn't taste like passion and longing anymore, only bitter desperation. Suga runs his hand through Oikawa's slightly damp hair, trails kisses along his jaw. Resists the urge to leave another mark, something that would keep Oikawa from forgetting him, forgetting _them._

Oikawa trails his fingertips down Suga's arm slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Suga's toes curl at the tenderness, all the bittersweet wishes welling up within him. He can't let Oikawa speak them aloud. Already he is getting under Suga's skin too much, in a way that terrifies him.

“Don't tell me,” Suga breathes, voice ringing too loud between them, and yet, the clock is louder. Passing second by passing second. “Or your wish won't come true.”

“Kou-chan,” Oikawa sighs, and the name sends a fresh wave of helpless longing through Suga. They could be so much, be so good. Possibilities as vast as the galaxy, but they won't find out – won't get to know what could have been. “That only applies for shooting stars.”

Suga rests his palm along Oikawa's face and thinks: _I could have learned to love you._

“The sky is endless,” Suga whispers, chest tight. “I'm sure there was a shooting star for us.”

“Does it count if you don't see it?” Oikawa shuffles closer, trailing kisses over Suga's collarbone. His breath puffs hotly over the chill slowly settling on Suga's skin. “The sky has nothing on what I was busy marvelling at tonight.”

“Sweet talker,” Suga replies, trying to give it edge, but all he says and does tonight is soft, words and touches. So soft, and so fragile.

Nothing but a fleeting memory of a full moon night and possibilities which never had the chance to blossom connect them, and soon -

“I'll write you postcards. From every place I visit.”

Soon they will be an ocean apart.

“Kiss me again,” Suga says, because time won't stop, especially not when you need it to the most. Because time is devious and merciless, brings down rock and metal, wears down everything, and tonight Suga does not want to taste hope for a future that may never come, he wants to taste the presence, wants to burn Oikawa's warmth and beauty into his memory.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small disclaimer: i wish i could put research into this, and format it prettily. but this story isnt supposed to be realistic or fancy, im just trying to pour as much emotion into as little words as possible, so please bear with me, alright? <3
> 
> #2 - postcards

april 15th

It hasn't stopped raining since I got here. I'm writing this card from a

café surrounded by languages I don't catch if I don't concentrate. Even if I

concentrate, sometimes I don't manage. (Most times.) Seems gestures are

my best friends these days. Do you speak any other languages?

I never got to ask.

 

may 3rd

Kou-chan, do you like the sea? I looked at the stars, sitting on the beach.

Feels like I'm still waiting for my shooting star.

The sky makes you feel so small, doesn't it? Infinitesimal. Travelling, too.

I quite like it, I think.

 

may 28th

Kou-chan, my last card to you was chewed up by an alpaca before I could

send it on its way. Never trust alpacas.

I've already met so many people, sometimes I can't wrap my head around

it. Our world is huge, and full. There's so much to see, and no place I have

to be. I stay and work until I have enough money, and then I move on.

I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but – I'm really enjoying it.

I hope you're happy, too.

 

june 30th

I miss my own bed, and my shower. I love foreign food, but I miss the taste

and smell of home sometimes. I'm writing this squeezed into an airport

starbucks. The hustle and bustle doesn't feel like a comfort, for once. It just

feels anonymous.

My next plane will carry me to another country, but somehow I can't help

but wish it would bring me home instead.

I hope you're doing well, Kou-chan.

 

july 1st

White Chocolate Moccha Frappucino tastes the same no matter where you

go.

I was on the roof of the Rockefeller Center today. Right up on top. I tried to

find a card that shows the view, but the picture can't do it justice. Being so

high up, seeing this vibrant heart of green in the middle of a forest of

steel.

I felt so small, but so remarkable. I'm not sure how to put it into words.

I think the past weeks have already changed me. How much have you

changed, Kou-chan?

 

july 5th

So many of the things happening here make me want to write you.

Sometimes I wish you could write me back, so I knew your thoughts.

Knew how you were doing. I hope my cards aren't annoying. I hope

they reach you.

 

september 1st

I know it's been far too long. I'm sorry. Things were insane. Most of my

money got stolen. I slept on floors of strangers and worked oddball jobs.

I learned about hunger and fear and kindness. I went on a roadtrip straight

across the U.S. with a bunch of friends I made along the way. It was terrifying,

humbling and incredible. This country is **huge** _._

I'm scraping together money to go to Europe next. I hope you didn't worry.

I didn't want to write you before you truly did not have a reason to any

longer.

 

september 7th

I'm not sure what to tell you. Nothing much is happening, aside from

work and routine and me itching to hit the road again. But I want to

write you more. To make up for the past months.

 

september 10th

Kou-chan, do you miss me sometimes? I do, when I look up at the stars.

No matter where you go, the sky is always the same. I'm not sure if that's

a comfort or makes me feel more lonely.

Strange, isn't it? I'm always surrounded by people, yet sometimes, I still

feel so lonely.

 

october 13th

Switzerland is … green. I'm helping a lovely woman who takes care of hurt

and orphaned birds. There's an owl in the tub, I'm scratched up from

brambles, and I've touched things so disgusting I can't even tell you.

I feel alive, Kou-chan. I do.

 

october 17th

I wish I could see the shelter in the summer. There'd be so much more to do.

But already I can feel the tug and pull. I won't stay long enough. I've lost

the ability to stay in one place, it feels like. Always searching.

 

november 2nd

Germany has significantly less beer than I was made to believe, you know.

It's cold and wet, but the people are warmer and more fun than I was made

to believe, too. Germans are said to be on time, but their trains are always

late. I really love it here.

 

november 23rd

You know how you told me to move on if I found someone?

I kissed someone tonight. I just might linger a little longer, even when I

planned to see more cities. I hope you can move on, too. It's been so long.

I don't think I'll ever get to see a shooting star. I think it's time to stop looking

at the sky like it holds the answer, Kou-chan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys!!! your comments and feedback give me WINGS, thank you so much, aaaah <3  
> this one's a little rough and messy, but [HQ team member voice] don't mind, don't mind
> 
> #3 - sick day

The postcard in his mail box is glossy, unexpected, and sends electric sparks through Suga's veins. It's sunlight bursting through the clouds of a day which had otherwise been gray and bland and only waiting for rainfall.

Ever since he had returned from his radio silence during the end of summer, it feels like Oikawa has been spoiling Suga with his cards, sending at least two of them, every month.

(The reason for the silence still makes Suga's heart clench, but everything Oikawa sends from Europe sounds so happy, so fascinated and fond. He will simply have to trust in the fact that Oikawa will be alright.)

So Suga carries the smooth postcard up the winding stairway of the apartment complex in hands almost shaky with giddiness. The paper is too light for all the possibilities it carries, for the breathless delight skidding across Suga's skin.

Suga unlocks the door, toes off his shoes, places the card on his desk, humming. The arrival of another postcard, scattered with stardust and thoughts and longing in between the lines, it calls for acknowledgement, appreciation. It calls for celebration. He never simply goes and reads them immediately, not anymore.

“Another one?” Kiyoko asks, voice filled with calm bemusement, but her eyes are steady on Suga, unwavering. In a way, she has always been on edge – for all the past months Suga had tried to forget Oikawa, and been dragged back into his pace over and over, with something as simple as careful letters, neatly fitted into the space of a single postcard. Oikawa breathes life into every single one of them, strings sentences together like he is creating art, and Suga simply lets him paint on the canvas of his heart.

But Kiyoko, she has been protective of it from the very beginning, with the ferocious devotion of a lioness. Lying in wait, but wary, slightly on edge, like she is anticipating the worst while hoping for the best.

“Still Germany,” Suga says, voice a little muted solely for the fact that he has been feeling out of it all day, his cheer unwavering under a layer of fatigue and the haze of a cold slowly closing in on him, a little more each passing hour.

The smile on his face feels liberating, after such a straining day, and Suga relishes the soothing touch of the joy on his frayed nerves.

“So, no new pin?” Kiyoko asks, eyes trained on the novel held idly in her hands without paying attention to the words. They have been filling the space around each other long enough, comfortably enough for Suga to know her attention still belongs to him.

“He switched cities,” he says, walking over to the wall he has claimed for his cause. “So I will get to put a new pin after all.”

He never puts the latest card on the wall, keeping it around so he can read the words over and over, but all the others make a colourful, scattered arrangement of so many sights Suga could not even dream of, decorating his wall because somehow, in all the beauty of the world Oikawa is witnessing daily, he still stops sometimes. Sits down in cafés or on beaches, somewhere surrounded by a language Suga wouldn't even understand, to send him a card back home.

After the third card, Suga had put up a world map on the wall, and now they are all scattered around it. There's a pin for each city Oikawa has written him from on it, colourful yarn marking the route Oikawa is taking around the globe. A string of colours connecting Oikawa's words to something tangible, a path Suga can trail with his fingertips if the longing in his chest gets heavy enough for him to lose all hope to doubts.

(Suga had promised himself not to hope, but how could he not, when Oikawa's words are pure magic, keep the longing alive and the hope burning.)

The map makes Oikawa feel a little closer. One day, perhaps in months, in weeks, Suga will finally bring the string back to Japan's little pin, yarn soft beneath his fingertips. He can almost taste the anticipation of that moment on his tongue, a promise of proximity, feel the breathless heartbeats and his fingers curling helplessly at the thought of knowing Oikawa return, come here to _stay_.

Suga licks his lips and goes to work, relishing in the routine – the promise of another postcard waiting for him as he puts this one on display, strings the yard. He steps back, satisfied, taking in the entirety of Oikawa's path so far. It has been long, a long time and a long way.

Perhaps, it will be this postcard – _I'm coming home –_ and it would change everything.

The possibility feels so overwhelming, so heavy, Suga simply spins and spins the card for a little. He truly is growing impatient, restless.

There's a glossy picture of mountains on this one, tips snow-covered, with a fairytale-esque village washed before it like sea shells washed up on a shore, looking like decoration for the beauty of nature behind it more than an actual place to live.

It's really beautiful.

Suga takes a deep breath, exhales slowly.

He turns the card and reads, smile falling from his face with the force of all naïve hopes ripped from him in a heartbeat.

 

\---

 

Kiyoko's hands are gentle, relentless in their care for him. She puts a cool cloth on Suga's burning forehead, fingers carding through his hair in a gesture so soothing, even the storm roaring inside of him gives in, granting Suga a merciful moment to catch his breath in the eye of it.

Suga blames it on the fever; the haze having torn apart all rationality, instead kindling emotions too heavy and intense for the fact that Suga had not lost Oikawa, after all, he had never been _his_ in the first place. His eyes burn and sting harshly, from tears which drained him dry and the flu settling deeper and deeper within his body, easily feeding his spiral of emotions too tangled, too sharp and violent to discern them or do more than endure.

How could he have been so naïve? Had Suga not been the one insisting on not waiting for each other?

But that had been before months of postcards, each one a reminder that Oikawa had not forgotten him, not just yet, that the sky was waiting brightly for them, and a future along with it, uncertain it may be.

Foolish. How foolish.

Suga curls up further under the cocoon of warmth and the pretense of protection, of a hiding place his bundled up blankets grant him. Kiyoko's fingers draw soothing circles across his scalp, her voice low as she hums gently. She has known all along, feared this, and yet she does not meet him with scorn, rubbing it in. All she does is pick up his pieces with unwavering patience and kindness.

For all the marks Suga had tried to leave on him, that night, he wonders how he had not realised that Oikawa Tooru had left more marks, deeper ones, right across his soul and heart, irreversible.

Suga's fingers curls into his sheets, and his face scrunches up as a dry sob tears its way from his lips.

“You'll be alright,” Kiyoko promises, voice soothing but with determination as unwavering as steel beneath, “I'll make sure of it.”

And he will be, he will, but that does not mean he's not hurting now, that does not mean Suga is not cursing fate with every broken noise escaping him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i'm really sorry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hZpo1ZJDxM)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is zooming along so fast and in so little words, what on earth!
> 
> #4 - holiday

“Stop it.” His roommate speaks little, only when it matters, and her blue eyes are unrelenting.

Oikawa's pen hesitates, hovering in the air over the card he's writing, heart pounding with the words lying unwritten on his tongue, demanding to be voiced. Put into the world, out of his system where they fester and grow and start whispering.

He finishes the sentence, curves of his letters taking shape painfully slowly, all while Hanna's gaze bores into his head, disapproving and no doubt gearing up to tear him apart. She does not need many words, for that.

“Stop what?” Oikawa tries, knowing there is not much use to it. “Weren't you the one who told me to feel some Christmas cheer? I'm only writing Christmas cards ...”

“ _Mein Gott.”_ Hanna shakes her head, gently lowering herself onto the sofa. There's a careless grace to her movements she is not aware of, a contrast to her sharp voice. No bullshit. It's always like that, with her. “Tooru. Stop ruining yourself.”

Oikawa looks down at the card, at words written, yet unvoiced, never to be seen by anyone else. A tomb of thoughts he would never be able to show, too heartfelt, too close, too loud, too –

But even after that last postcard he sent, even after he had willingly cut ties, he can not stop. Since the beginning of his journey the postcards have been a lifeline to him, a patchwork diary, thoughts jotted down before they could turn against himself. So … how would he stop now, that he feels more lost than ever?

So Oikawa keeps writing to Suga, card after card. He wrapped a rubber band around them, shoves them into the depths of his bag, beneath bunched up shirts and scattered mementos and a pair of shoes, like he's just waiting to leave again and carry them along.

No matter how fond Oikawa has grown of this country, of the people, of his roomate - it feels as if … he's lying in wait. Then again, part of him had always felt that way.

Waiting. Longing. Reaching for something he can't see, doesn't know what it even is he is searching so desperately.

“You said you'd stop,” Hanna reminds him.

Oikawa looks up, gaze zeroing in on the cigarette between Hanna's lips. She freezes where she's digging into her pocket for a lighter.

“So did you. No more cards to Suga for me, and no more smoking for you. Aren't we both hypocrites?”

Hanna does not reply, instead, she grabs for the cigarette and the pack she had just tossed on the table. Moves across the room and drops it into the trash. She turns, raising her eyebrows at him. “Stop.”

“I'm not _sending_ them,” Oikawa hisses back, feeling strangely cornered by how easily she just did that. “I'm only writing them. I won't be selfish any longer.”

“I don't think you were selfish,” Hanna says, taking her place again in her worn-out red leather chair. She unwraps a strip of gum and pops it into her mouth, starts folding the silver paper with thoughtless care as she speaks. “You keep saying you don't want to hold him back. But I think you're scared. You're not doing anyone a favour - neither him nor you. You're not selfless. You're running.”

Oikawa's smile feels tight, the pen in his fingers almost burning, the words staring back up at him seeming to mock him. He feels caught, and he wishes Hanna could not see right through him, and he wishes he could have felt anything back when they kissed. Anything except for guilt, as if he had cheated on a lover, when Suga had probably moved on long ago, perhaps moved entirely, never even receiving his cards anymore.

Unable to forget a person who had told Oikawa not to wait on him, what a joke.

“So what if I am? At least I can't hurt him that way.”

“Do you honestly think that?” She shakes her head. Hanna's words hit deep so easily. “Neither of us know what he feels. The one you're really holding back and hurting is yourself, and I'm tired of it. Get your shit together.” She rises easily, walking over towards the door of the small balcony, puts her fingertips on the glass nimbly. “It's snowing,” she says, not minding the quiet surrounding Oikawa in the wake of her words. He lets the pen clatter to the table, buries his face in his hands, breath hot and moist against his palms.

“What should I do?” he mutters, wincing at how weak he sounds.

“I'm going out.” Hanna walks across the room, grabbing her coat. “Figure it out.”

The door clicks shut, leaving Oikawa kneeling in the wake of a battlefield, one that he had created himself, thinking it would gain him victory when it left him empty-handed in the rubble.

 

\---

 

“Hanna!” His heart is racing. No, no, _no._ “Hanna!”

He turns his bag over, contents already spilled all across the floor, his shitty little room utterly turned over. _Nothing._

Oikawa rushes into the living room, breath frantic, anger and fear dancing through his veins unbearably thick and unpleasant.

Hanna pulls her headphones off her ears, looking at him over her shoulder where she is lazing on the couch, the very picture of ease, and it makes Oikawa want to shake it out of her until she is as frantic as him. She has the beginning of a scarf in her hands, trying to combat that she quit smoking with knitting, looking so _cozy_ and _relaxed_.

“What have you _done,”_ he spits, because it could not have been anyone but her, and there's a calm, scheming shimmer in her eyes telling him all he needs to know. It feels like the ground is opening up beneath Oikawa's feet, leaving him falling, helpless, only waiting for the impact to shatter him.

Al his cards are gone. An entire stack of them, words too honest, too idealistic, too true to toss them out into the world, to allow anyone to see them. Least of all the person they were meant for.

“Consider it an early Christmas present,” Hanna says, still so calm when Oikawa's legs give in and he sinks onto the sofa, feeling incredibly weak and vulnerable. He buries his fingers in his hair, exhales, tries to adjust to a thought so terrifying and overwhelming.

“You weren't supposed to,” he whispers. “He wasn't supposed to _know._ ”

“Stop running, Tooru.” The tone of her voice makes Oikawa look up, and Hanna's smile leaves him breathless with its warmth. When she speaks again, she does so with a sigh, voice heavy with melancholy, like Oikawa has already drifted away from her. Torn between joyful hope and heartache. “Go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [aaaaaaa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYqcpTYQ8I4)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter with pink hands because i dyed my hair today. it's 2.41 a.m. and i regret everything, but better late than never! 
> 
> #5 - admiration

april 15th

I know I should be talking about the weather but all I can think about

is to ask you to take it back, to be mine, to wait for me to return, and I

I can't send this thing. Already messed it up. So I might as well write my

stupid feelings out.

I know you don't want to give your heart to a man who left and doesn't

know when he'll return but I can't give up my dream and stay either.

It isn't meant to be but I want for it to be. I can't help it.

I'll try a more suited card now

 

may 3rd

Kou-chan, I can't stop thinking about you. You told me not to hold on to you,

but it's hard. I miss you so much more than I would've thought possible.

I don't love you, but I wish I would've gotten the opportunity to find out if

I could.

I want to kiss you again. Part of me just wants to turn around, go back and fall

into your arms. It should be: I don't love you **yet.**

 

may 15th

I wish I could show you these sights. I want to take your hand, I want you

to see the same beauty, taste the same food, feel the same thrill of adventure.

Meet all these amazing people. I want to fall asleep next to you, not strangers,

I want you to stop being an almost-stranger. I want to know you better than

anyone else does. I want you to know me the same way, and yet I'm too much of

a coward to send half the cards I write.

 

june 2nd

The stars make me think of you, always. It won't stop. I can't forget you.

You already might have forgotten me. All I can do is keep sending cards. Are you

even getting them? I'm scared, Kou-chan. When I think of you, I feel scared, but I

can't stop doing it. What have you done to me?

 

june 5th

Kou-chan. I dreamed of you tonight. But I woke up at the other edge of the

world and my arms were empty and today, it's tearing me apart. I'm lost

and lonely and I don't understand anyone around me and I want to go back

to the night when I ignored the stars because I was so caught up in you.

I didn't tell you how beautiful you are. I wish I had.

 

june 10th

Look at this card, it's so ugly. The shooting star looks like a stock image

slapped on black background, and yet it made me think of you so I couldn't

pass it by.

I'm still waiting for our shooting star. (But not this one, who green-lit this thing

for printing.)

 

june 30th

I don't just want to come home. I wish I could come home to you.

It scares me.

 

july 1st

I can't forget you. Why can't I forget you? The thought that you've forgotten

me already drives me insane, that someone else might kiss you and get to

hold you at night, wake up next to you not for one morning but day after day

after day. I want it to be me. I want you to be mine.

I wish I could hear your voice.

I wish I knew what you are thinking.

Have you changed enough to forget all about me already?

 

july 4th

Kou-chan, can you fall in love with a person in their absence? I feel like I'm

going crazy. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

 

july 10th

I miss home. In all the exhilaration of moving forwards, of never knowing

where my next step will lead, I miss knowing something at my back.

I miss safety. I miss a place to return, a safe haven. I never knew how much

I could miss it. I miss steadiness.

 

july 17th

Kou-chan. I put my last money into a batch of shitty cards.

I feel hysterical. My money got stolen and I

 

july 19th

Kou-chan. I hate being dependent on strangers. I hate this. I'm terrified.

I'm stranded in a foreign country with only my shitty English skills and

whatever I got left in my bag.

 

july 23rd

I'm weak and scared and hungry. I can't talk to anyone. I can't have anyone

worry. I worry enough already. I hope you're doing well. I hope you're happy.

I selfishly hope you're single and waiting for me and I'm scared you're not.

Maybe you found someone better. Someone who doesn't let their money

get stolen and disappears off the face of earth and kisses you good morning

and is right there next to you and

 

august 8th

I'm so tired, Kou-chan.

 

august 15th

I can't do this anymore.

 

august 16th

People's kindness baffles me. I'm sitting in a car headed to the other edge of

the country. It's so huge it might as well be a journey to an entirely different

country.

I wish it was you singing along to these songs badly. I want to hear you sing.

I bet you sound all crooked, but your enthusiasm makes up for it. Your voice

is beautiful but I like to think you can't sing at all.

I wouldn't know, though. It drives me insane. I'm scared to send you a card yet.

I scrapped so many I started. Tore them up, scattered them out of the car

window. I'll find the words, someday, I hope. Someday soon.

The longer I don't write you the more likely you'll forget me. I know that, 

urgently, and it paralyses me.

 

october 15th

I want to lie in the grass with you on a pointless afternoon and do nothing but look at the sky.

 

october 20th

I'm trying to forget you. I'm sure you've forgotten me already. Why is this so hard?

I don't want to be confused. I can't be in love with you. I'm just seeing things, I

know that, but I can't make it stop.

Everyone tells me I'm projecting a wrong image on nothing but the idea of you. 

And they're right. I know that.

(But I'm stubborn, you see? I don't want to believe them even when I should.

Like there was a spark, you know? Like we're still not lost. I hate myself a little for

being unable to admit defeat.)

 

november 13th

I met a stunning girl, sharp and beautiful and one of a kind, and I kissed her, and it

made me feel sick to my stomach. She's my type, Kou-chan. I want to want her

but I can't, not when my heart belongs to you, not when I'm so ridiculously

unable to forget. What is wrong with me?

 

novemeber 15th

My biggest fear is that I'm holding you back. That you're still getting these cards and

I know even when I don't tell you half the things I write, I'm not subtle either.

You probably know I'm still attached. You probably feel tied up by it. Pressured.

Like you need to wait on me. The truth is, I'm just selfish, unable to let go, even when

I should. What point is there to these useless cards? I should've stopped a long time

ago. I'm sorry.

 

november 23rd

I regret sending that card. You probably won't even get it. You're probably relieved

I finally moved on from my weird obsession with you.

I wish I had never

 

november 25th

I'm feeling lonely again, stranded. Germany is only growing colder and it feels like

so am I. I tried to set myself free but it didn't work, I still feel the same way about you,

I'm just hurting more than before. I hate this. It was never meant to be like this.

It feels like I was searching for my heart all along, never realising I left it with y

 

november 26th

Will it ever stop? What do I have to do to finally make it stop. I'm trying but I'm

failing. I just can't

 

november 27th

Kou-chan, I

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i put all of oikawa's cards in chronological order [over here](http://citruswriting.tumblr.com/post/137380987681/oikawas-postcards-all-of-them-a-bonus-for-and), for anyone who would like to see the whole picture at once!
> 
> [well.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjxy5PtW1dc)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought i'd be done earlier than at night today cause it's the weekend and i started earlier but then it took me like FIVE HOURS. please enjoy, have an extra long chapter as a thank you for all your feedback. working on this project is so much fun thanks to your support <3
> 
> #6 - date

“Are you expecting any guests?” Suga asks, voice tinged with betrayal as he looks down at himself, in grey sweatpants and his favourite shrimp shirt that he kept wearing for comfort over the reality that he spilled milk all over it this morning. “Shimizu, just tell me if Yui comes over.”

“I'm not expecting anyone.” Kiyoko wrinkles her nose, puts down her pen and stretches her arms over her head crossing the room, easing some of the tension of hour-long paperwork out of her shoulders. “This better be free pizza.”

Suga snorts. “Maybe it's our neighbor trying to give us kittens again.”

“She was so persistent,” Kiyoko sighs, before going up on her tiptoes and looking into the hall through the spyhole.

“Pretend we're not here,” Suga whisper-calls, settling back onto the sofa comfortably. He drapes his blankets around himself, builds a little nest of warmth and comfort. Lately, he has allowed himself to indulge in a lot of softness, a lot of gentle things while he tries to regain his footing. Cuddling with Nishinoya's dog whenever he gets the chance to and eating more chocolate than usual, watching disney movies rather than horror ones. His heart is a little vulnerable, so soothing it seems only natural. Spending a saturday night cuddled up in lazy attire at home, Kiyoko's gentle breathing and the sound of rustling paper in the background rather than going out.

He keeps his heart locked away more securely, more tightly these days.

“Suga,” Kiyoko whispers, voice tight and on the edge of what definitely sounds like panic. “That's Oikawa Tooru in front of our door.”

Suga whirls around, eyes wide in panic, body on alert, mind reeling. His heart is racing with uncomfortable force and heaviness in his chest, and he licks his lips, the chuckle falling from them sounding weak and thin. “Good joke.”

“I'm not joking!” Kiyoko's panic is definitely seeping into her voice now. Suga is going to faint. “What do I do?”

“Figure something out!” Suga hisses as he jumps to his feet with his fingers curled into the blankets, absconding with them dragging across the floor behind him. The floor is unpleasantly cold against his bare feet and makes him wince. He hadn't meant to move a muscle for the next three _hours_ at least and now – Oikawa is – _no,_ that's, how _dare_ he -

“Should we pretend we're not home?” Kiyoko calls after him.

“Tell him I don't want to see him!” Suga is suddenly aware what exactly he needs – not to hide out and pretend they're gone for the night, but for Kiyoko to be a knight for him, fend off the person who had broken his heart already and now for some reason had the gal to stand at his doorstep like there was still a right for him to be here. “Make him leave. Please?”

Kiyoko looks at him and gives a small, simple nod. Suga disappears into his room, closes the door behind him, and fumbles for headphones with shaking hands. He sits on the bed, curls into his blankets and blasts the most guitar and drums heavy song he can find, heart still racing in his chest. Trying to drown out his thoughts. Oikawa is standing at their door, talking to Kiyoko -

What does he look like? What kind of expression is he making? What is he thinking, showing up here? Does he want to be friends? Is he missing whoever he dated in Germany now that he's back, coming crawling back to Suga to fill in the space left behind?

Suga digs the balls of his hands into his eyes so hard he's seeing stars, breath harsh in his lungs, driving in the ache he feels anew, wounds torn open again. He had been at peace knowing Oikawa away. Ignoring the small parcel filled to the brim with more postcards, shoving it under his bed to carry on with his life instead. Suga had just started feeling normal again, had just stopped thinking of Oikawa daily, and of course now, now of all times, he had to show up like it was his right.

Since when had he been back in Japan anyway?

No, no, Suga doesn't _care._

A touch at his shoulder startles him badly enough to yelp and tear his headphones off his ears, staring up at Kiyoko. Her eyes are soft with something Suga can't put a finger on, but he's grateful it's not pity.

“Is he gone?” he asks, strangled.

The mattress dips under her weight when Kiyoko sits down on the edge next to him. “He seemed serious.”

Suga laughs, so hollow and bitter, it tears up his throat. “He seemed serious, too, when he sent me a million postcards and I was stupid enough to get my hopes up. I don't want to get hurt again. I thought _you_ didn't want me to get hurt again.”

Kiyoko looks at her fingernails, smooth and round. “Did you read the cards he sent you?”

“No.” He hitches his blankets further up his shoulders, feeling incredibly irrational, and protective of his choices. Is Kiyoko the one who had to deal with a break-up that wasn't even a break-up?

“I did,” she says, easily, and Suga only stares at her.

“You what?”

“Read them, Suga.” Kiyoko is a quiet force, she knows when to wait patiently for things to happen. The only times she pushes, the times her eyes aren't clear and bright, but _burning_ are those that matter to her. Maybe it is that sincerity, that earnesty, that compels Suga to shuffle numbly, nod.

It is Kiyoko who gives him the stack, still neatly tied together.

“I wanted you to read them all this time,” Kiyoko mutters, watching him fiddle with the rubber band keeping them together. “But it wasn't my place to push you.”

“But now it is?” Suga asks, hands stilling on the smooth surface of the first card.

“Yes,” Kiyoko replies, a simple syllable, filled with conviction. Suga works the rubber band off the cards, turns the first one over in his hands. He exhales deeply, and starts to read.

Kiyoko puts her hand between his shoulder blades to steady him when Suga shifts, angles the fifth card he's reading differently so he won't smudge any more letters. He wipes his stinging cheeks with he back of his hands and struggles through, each month, all the insecurities, doubts. All the honest thoughts. The small things, the big ones.

The last one is only his name and blank space Oikawa never finished, a canvas no doubt speaking of the same anguish Suga had felt those months, after the card Oikawa had _regret_ so much, this stupid -

How could he have - ?

None of this pain would have been necessary, if Oikawa could only have -

It was _mutual,_ it had always been _mutual,_ Oikawa hadn't even -

“Stupid liar,” Suga chokes out, fists at his sides clenched so tightly his knuckles ache, all these postcards scattered in and across his lap. “What a _coward._ ”

But hadn't he been the same? Hadn't he been the one to tell Oikawa not to wait? Not to stay in touch? Not to shoot for a long distance relationship, thinking it all for naught anyway, too scared of getting his hopes of, of getting hurt -

“I'm a coward, too,” he spits, almost choking on a sob he doesn't allow past his lips. He takes a deep, ragged breath, fights these stupid tears with so much force that the pressure behind his temples builds up and makes his head ache, his chest prickling with needles scattered throughout it. The regret bears on his shoulders so heavily, he is not sure how to keep moving forward with this weight.

“You both made mistakes,” Kiyoko replies, still calm, settling his core with her composure. Suga leans into her steady touch, and wonders where he would have been, not knowing his best friend at his side. Where he would have been with no way to know if his words ever reached the person they were meant for, never staying in one place too long, fending for survival at points. Can he really blame Oikawa?

Can he really?

“I told him to wait outside.” Kiyoko's fingertips dig into his back with gentle, insistent force, like a push. “He's still here.”

Suga shakes off the blankets, feeling more constricting than a comfort now, and stumbles to his feet. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, red-rimmed eyes and sweatpants and a stained shirt, mussed up hair and body language tight and coiled.

“Go,” Kiyoko says, gently, the second Suga is already lifting his foot to stride out of the room, sprinting along the cool tiles, almost smacking his shoulder into the wall when he takes the turn into the living room too sharp, with too much impatience. And then he freezes, right where he stands, as he catches sight of Oikawa's frame.

He's standing in front of the world map, the one Suga had still not been able to take off the wall, head tilted to take it in. It feels surreal, to see the man whose path through the world Suga documented with such devotion while torn with longing outlined against the map, seeing it with his own two eyes.

Oikawa tenses and turns, like he can sense Suga's presence. His eyes widen, hands slack at his sides, mouth falling agape with a gentle gasp. For a second, his face is open, vulnerable, honest like those cards he kept to himself, didn't dare to send. Before it locks up, his expression tight around his eyes and lips, drawing in on himself.

Suga can't feel his own heartbeat any longer. There's a million things he wants to do, but in the end, his body moves on its own. He's running, and Oikawa's lips part like he wants to say something, he's running, and Oikawa looks different than he used to, yet the same, inexplicably. He's running, and Oikawa's eyes widen, so many emotions on display, he's running, and Oikawa spreads his arms instinctively. He barrels into him, enough force to push him back against the wall. Oikawa's head would have knocked against a postcard from Switzerland had Suga not buried his fingers in his hair already, caught the blow with his palms.

Oikawa's arms wrap around him, hands settling at his back, big and warm and steady. Suga leans in, kisses whatever Oikawa had been about to say from his lips, swallows his breath and closes his eyes as he relearns the shape of this mouth again, this taste, Oikawa's choked up noise and the way his fingers tighten in Suga's shirt when he presses back into the kiss, breathlessly.

Oikawa's lips taste like the thrill of travelling he described, like stars scattered across the night sky, like fireflies dancing and waves meeting shore, like mountains and deserts and the anticipation of something unknown ahead, something that feels too huge, too bright, too beautiful to be true. But underneath the exhilaration, it feels calm like the comfort of returning home, to stumble back into Oikawa's embrace. The past months melt away, the heartbreak and doubts, the hopes and longing, all of it burns to meaningless ash with the heat of Oikawa's skin beneath Suga's hands and lips.

Oikawa is solid and real in his embrace, trembling, with a string of small noises like a well-kept secret between them and the tips of his fingers tracing up Suga's spine in small, shy touches.

When they part, Oikawa's hands have made it to his shoulder blades, but trail down his sides again, fingers settling on Suga's hips. They look at each other, only look, in stunned silence. There are wet trails on Oikawa's cheeks, too, and Suga breathes two butterfly-soft kisses to them, going up on his tip-toes. Oikawa's lashes flutter, eyebrows drawing together in not-quite-pain, like the sheer fondness of the touch is hard to bear.

“Kou-chan,” he gasps, face scrunching up. “You haven't forgotten m-”

“Never.” It's so easy, so simple, to tell him now. The proof for it is right behind them, months worth of travel documented and put on display, traced and kept in mind. “I've felt the same way you did all along, you coward.”

Oikawa flinches at the harshness of the last two words, and Suga almost stumbles over the rest that he wants to say, in his haste to make Oikawa understand. “But I was a coward first. I shouldn't have let go of you in the first place. But I thought it would -”

“Go away,” Oikawa breathes, his hands coming up to cup Suga's cheeks, eyes impossibly wide and his pupils blown, lips pink from their kiss. “That it would stop. But it didn't?”

“It didn't,” Suga echoes, and Oikawa's eyes fall shut, the tension in his shoulders melt away, relief so strong it rolls through his entire body like a wave and leaves him soft and pliant under Suga's hands.

“Kou-chan, I –“ he begins, eyes still closed, but he forces them open. The sudden intensity in his gaze shackles Suga where he stands, no longer holding Oikawa to make sure that he's real, but to anchor himself, as his heartbeat roars up in his ears, thrums through his body, a frantic melody. “I wanted to ask this a long time ago -”

“Yes,” Suga gasps, without bothering to hear what exactly it entails, because at this point, Oikawa could ask for anything.

“Listen to me, idiot,” Oikawa mutters, voice breathy with underlying laughter, his thumb tracing Suga's cheekbone in a gesture so excruciatingly tender, it makes Suga's toes curl. “Don't just say yes.”

“Then ask me,” Suga demands, tugging on Oikawa's collar. “I've waited long enough.”

“Go out with me -”

“Yes -”

“Be my boyfriend -”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Be _mine -_ ”

“Yes,” Suga gasps, breathes, _sings._ He's been Oikawa's all along, this is just – this is things finally settling, slotting into place, a puzzle completed, shattered pieces mended, doubts blown away, leaving nothing in their wake but steady warmth and fluttering hope for the future.

He leans back in the moment Oikawa does, meeting halfway for their kiss, sighing at the feeling of ease settling in his bones, mind calming. His feelings are returned, and Oikawa is right here, real and warm and tugging him closer, greedy and cheeky in the most charming way.

“I think I already love you,” Oikawa gasps against his lips, at last, causing a cascade of dancing lights welling up in Suga. “Is that silly?”

“Yes,” Suga replies whole-heartedly, a second away from joyful, happy laughter. “But me, too. I feel the same. We're both silly, we're so silly. We're so stupid, Tooru.”

“And cowards,” Oikawa declares, with a wide grin, and he wraps his arms around Suga's middle and picks him up like that, twirling him around where they stand.

“We're horrible,” Suga laughs, feeling giddy and dizzy and _in love._

“We are,” Oikawa sighs, when Suga's feet touch the ground again and Oikawa's touch lingers loosely around his waist, and his gaze is so fond and warm it takes Suga's breath away.

“We are,” Suga whispers, overwhelmed.

They both just stand there, looking, feeling a little at a loss, until there's a soft clearing of a throat and _oh,_ oh goodness, Kiyoko has probably witnessed this entire cheesy confession -

“Don't mind me,” she mutters, cheeks flushed and gaze straight ahead as she marches past them, a small bag around her shoulder. “I'm happy for you two. I'm staying over at Yui's tonight.” She waves her hand out, still refusing to meet Suga's gaze, and he can feel embarrassment creep up his neck and cheeks, too. “Enjoy yourselves. Don't touch my ice cream. Bye!” She opens the door slightly, spins into the hall and shuts it behind her.

Oikawa looks utterly bewildered. “I forgot she was here. I didn't mean to -”

“It's fine.” Suga takes Oikawa's hand and tugs him along, further into the living room. Away from the door. “Don't think I'll let you leave tonight. I don't -” he adds, hastily. “I don't want to – do anything. I just can't let you go yet. I want to wake up next to you. Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” Oikawa replies, squeezing his hand. His smile is dazzling in its brightness, and warms Suga to the core. “I didn't plan to leave – if you would have me - …” Oikawa trails off, voice a little tight, the fear of rejection too fresh in his mind to stay untouched by it. So Suga stumbles forwards, wraps his arms around him again and squeezes Oikawa so tightly he lets out a strangled 'oof'. “You better be prepared,because I'll never let you go again.”

Oikawa's chuckles ghost across Suga's scalp in warm puffs of breath as he buries his nose in his hair. “What lucky coincidence, because neither will I.”

“But first off, I'll need you out of these clothes.”

Oikawa actually squawks and pulls back, staring at him. “I thought you -”

Suga crosses his arms and takes Oikawa's appearance in, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. The smile on his lips feels so easy and true, joy bubbling in his veins making him feel confident and mischievous. “No. That won't do.”

“What!” Oikawa stumbles another step back, looking down at himself. He's wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his trouser neat and proper, fitting his frame too well. Oikawa looks so handsome it is _appalling,_ and Suga won't stand for this, not on his lazy Saturday in. “What's wrong with the way I look?! It took me _ages_ to pick this outfit. I thought Iwa-chan was going to actually murder me!”

The mental image of Oikawa, a nervous wreck and unable to pick an outfit for this visit, it pleases Suga beyond words. “You're too handsome,” he replies, savouring the words and the way they make Oikawa's expression fall in surprise, paint a dusting of red on his cheeks. “Were you hoping to take me out to a fancy dinner, Oikawa Tooru?”

“Maybe,” he replies, one arm like a shield across his chest, clinging to his own biceps, not meeting Suga's gaze. The tips of his ears are red, too, and his hair looks more artfully tousled than usually.

Suga feels bright, blinding happiness burn all the way down to his toes. “Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but a fancy dinner is out of the question. I won't sit in a restaurant with you and make awkward smalltalk sitting across each other. That's for first dates. I already slept with you, that puts us to an equivalent of three dates under our belt.” He holds up a fourth finger, tapping it as he speaks. “Which makes this our fourth date. You know what makes a great fourth date?”

“What?” Oikawa asks, looking torn between dread and anticipation.

“Give me a second.” Suga turns and hurries back into his room, grabs for the next best pair of sweatpants and a shirt he figures would fit Oikawa, and returns to throw both at Oikawa's face without warning. With an indignant noise, Oikawa fumbles to catch them and looks down at the clothes in his hands with furrowed brows.

“Put those on. I vote watching movies in sweatpants and cuddling. Any objections?”

Oikawa looks back up at him, and Suga could swear there's something as bright as starlight twinkling in his eyes. “Absolutely none.”

So that's how they end up, Oikawa's ankles bare in too short sweatpants, curled into Suga's arms with a blissed out little smile, humming at the way Suga trails mindless patterns over his arms, drawing goosebumps in their wake. Suga holds onto Oikawa just a little too tightly, because the reality of Oikawa in his arms is too new not to, but also because Suga wants to be steady for him, a promise that the place in his arms will be Oikawa's home if he wants it to be. That there is no need to feel lost any longer.

They order take-out and eat with their knees pressed together, eyes crinkling and lighting up whenever their gazes meet, smiling around their bites of food, contagious and irresistible. And then Suga pulls Oikawa back in, and he melts into the embrace like even after seeing the world, there is no place Oikawa would rather be than right here. Neither of them care for dishes piling on the living room table, nor whatever movie is playing now.

They fall into bed, legs tangled and fingers laced, and kiss sleepily until tiredness gets the better of them, curled into each other.

The last thing Suga hears is Oikawa breathe 'I love you' into his hair, shuffling so Suga's head is tucked against his chest, and he falls asleep with a smile, senses filled with Oikawa's clean scent and warmth and the taste of his kisses still lingering on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sue me.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9ayN39xmsI)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last one, aaaah!!! i wasnt sure at ALL what i wanted for this chapter and this prompt, but in the end, i think im happy with how it turned out ♥
> 
> thanks to you all for going on this ride with me <3333 
> 
> #7 - future

[Buy milk! Dinner next Friday? - S]

 

[milk restocked! i'm your hero~ thought we'd stay in? - O]

 

[That sketch didn't even look like you. Too handsome. And nope! - S]

 

[rude! but it's our five year anniversary? - O]

 

[Am I not allowed to take my boyfriend out on a fancy dinner? - S]

 

[i've tried to get you to the past four years and we always ended up with netflix & chill – O]

 

[I'll wear a suit. Take it or leave it, Tooru – S]

 

[ILL TAKE IT also i took the last slice of cake~ - O]

 

[Maybe I'll break up with you before Friday - S]

 

[i wasn't such a drama queen when you took the last milbread – O]

 

[You didn't speak to me for three days – S]

 

[if you dont speak to me for three days well sit in a restaurant in silence – O]

 

[Makes it easier to enjoy the food – S

(Looking forward to tomorrow)]

 

[rude! - O

(me too ♥♥♥)]

 

\---

 

february 21st

Tooru,

as the one who got you the boyfriend of your dreams I want the news FIRST & FRESH & HOT.

You better make me your best man! Or an honorary one - I'd armwrestle Hajime for the position

but I know I'd lose. As long as you pay my flight to Japan so I can attend the wedding my german

ass won't come HAUNTING you.

VIEL GLÜCK!

Hanna

 

\---

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

HANNA SENT A CARD

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

???

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

TH EY K NO W

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

h O W

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

you werent exctly subtle

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

with the dinner date

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

and the suit

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

on your five year anniversary

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

after you talked about engagement before

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

DONT BE RATIONAL WITH ME

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

IM HAVING A CRISIS

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

but are you sure they know. maybe you arent the only one.

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

HOLY SHIT

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

are you excited or offended hes trying to beat you to the punch

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

both???

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

let me know how it goes

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

are you sure he would

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

he wouldnt

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

its tooru

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

of course he would

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

I cant believe hes trying to beat me

 

from: shimizu (the MVP)

shouldnt you be getting dressed

 

to: shimizu (the MVP)

DAMN

 

\---

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

hE KNOWS

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

HE KNOWS IWACHAN

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

HES PRTNDING HE DSNT KN O BUT HE KNO S

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

trashykawa. fucking breathe

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

what happened 

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

he hugged me frm beind

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

cause were SO IN LOVVE

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

tHAS WHAT COUPES D O

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

gross and stfu tell me whats up or leave

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

u havent even used a single emoticon this ones abig crisis

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

he felt the box in my pocket I KNOW H E DDI

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

p sure he couldve figured anyways

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

is it rlly a big deal i mean i dont think anyones surprised

 

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

including him

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

ITS A BIG DEAL

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

ITS A HUGE D EA L

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

on second thought i dont evn wanna ask anymore (*｀へ´*)

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

dont be stupid

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

get dressed

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

pop the question

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

uve been wanting to follow beyonces advice for half a year

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

you like it so put a ring on it

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

youre right .. and iwachan?

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

yeah?

 

to: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

its beyoncé

 

from: IWACHAN (╬ಠ益ಠ)

fuck u

 

\---

 

My dearest fiancé, good morning! Have a great start into your day! I love you.

 

 

my dearest fiancé, don't think i'll forgive you for being faster than me just cause you're being cute (｀Д´)

(ilu too) (gonna get home @ 6 & make dinner U SIT BACK & RELAX UNTIL I GET THERE)

 

 

My dearest fiancé, it was only a matter of a minute and because you wanted to wait until dessert ...

(But yes, I won ) ♥ Good morning and enjoy your day, I'll be late tonight. Love you!

 

 

my dearest fiancé, I just wanted to write the word fiancé again~ hate fallin asleep in an empty bed. make sure to cuddle up to me real close and hold me tightly when you get here~ (´ ▽｀).。ｏ♡

 

 

My dearest fiancé, on my way home I saw a shooting star and it reminded me of so much. Tooru, you're more than I would've ever anticipated. I can't wait to wake up next to you, tomorrow, and the day after, and all the days after. 

(And since I saw a shooting star, I win again ♥)

 

\---

 

to: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

U SAW A SHOOTING ST AR

 

from: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

i did. did you like my note?

 

to: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

scrrched into my pillow. happy?

 

from: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

yes

 

to: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

me too

 

to: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

im rlly rlly happy

 

to: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

but u wont win!!! tomorrow at 8. BRACE YOURSELF. come if u DARE!!

 

from: my future husband (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

its a date♥

 


End file.
